The Analyst
by Raven Blanchard
Summary: Because you don't just go back to being normal after saving the world. A girl finds herself unable to cope with the nonviolence of normal life, and a medical student finds himself irrevocably intrigued by her. (M for violence and sexual themes)
1. The Appointment

Blurb: Because you don't just go back to being normal after saving the world. A girl finds herself unable to cope with the nonviolence of normal life, and a medical student finds himself irrevocably intrigued by her. (M for violence and sexual themes)

ooOoo

"How would you describe yourself?"

The girl very nearly fidgets on the plush leather sofa she is sat upon as she ponders the inane question like one would a particularly difficult riddle. In a way, perhaps, a riddle is exactly what it is, for it surely couldn't be answered quite so simply. Discounting the utter... surrealism of her past (which she knows for a fact she couldn't talk about, to anyone, not really), her own thoughts - ones of herself especially - are always complex, often circumlocutory, and are never quite as simple as A+B=C.

 _How would you describe yourself?_

Is an answer really necessary? Or wanted? She'd come here to be fixed, not to be interrogated. Surely they don't really care about her answer, the question is hardly psychoanalytical in design and execution. In fact, it borders on stupidly sentimental.

(Blood. Rich and thick with a stench reminiscent of rust. It coats her hands like a well-worn glove of wet, irrefutable accusation.)

'You have blood on your hands'

 _How would you describe yourself?_

The answer to the question involves near-unspeakable past acts and choices, a disturbingly frequent dream involving spiders and some stupid rock and congealing blood, and a constant ache deep in her bones to do something. To fight. To struggle. Her answer involves murder and half-remembered multiple attempts at rape of her person and rotting bodies and betrayal and insurmountable odds and-

"I think..."

\- and shouldn't she be glad that it's all over now? Shouldn't she be all for moving on with her life - her very _normal_ life - since she'd fought so hard for it? Kagome often wonders-

(Trembling hands wrapped around a dead cat with a broken neck. Harsh panting breaths. Flushed cheeks. Soaked underw-)

\- wonders how well she truly knows herself. If she even knows herself at all. And if she can't be sure of the latter, then how could she possibly describe herself? How does one describe the unknown? How can one map uncharted waters?

"I think..."

Perhaps she's just feeling defensive. Fine. Maybe she does know that something's wrong. But she came here, didn't she? Shouldn't that count for something? What right did they have to glean her thoughts, the screams and sighs of her own soul? Who do they think they are?

But... she _needs_ this. To get better. She knows that. She's always been emotional and a bit off her rocker, but she's never been stupid. There's something wrong with her, and-

 _How would you describe yourself?_

"I think, Dr. Ootori, that I'm someone who needs help."

ooOoo


	2. The Birth of Takatsukasa Kaname

**A/N: I didn't expect to be writing this, actually. But plotbunnies are unstoppable that way. I just hope this fic really takes off, because I have such grand plans for it, mwahahaha!**

 **Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

 **Reviews are love!**

 **Ciao!**

ooOoo

The bleeding red light of dusk illuminates his face, lending an eerie glow to his features. Whiskey eyes turn to an almost glowing scarlet in it, and pearly white teeth gleam in a soft smile that suddenly seems a touch predatory.

Kagome feels an involuntary rush of adrenaline run through her veins, making the otherwise mundane moment seem titillating, fear giving it the magic she never quite admits to sorely miss.

She hasn't seen him in over three weeks, still reeling from the shock and pain and grief-

("You honestly expect him to live still? After so long?")

But he told her to come to him if she needs help, any help at all, and so here she is.

She enters the office after only a second of hesitaton, closing the door behind her with an ominous click.

"Sesshōmaru," she greets softly.

"Little One," he replies in an equally soft manner, reflective eyes fixed on her. "Something ails you," he declares as his earlier smile vanishes, leaving no evidence in its wake. There is no question in his tone. And, well, that makes things so much easier since she's having a hard enough time admitting to herself that the problem even exists, much less that it bothers her. His statement makes it so that she can't really deny it.

Sesshōmaru isn't _asking_. He never does.

(Blood mixed with tears. So much struggle. Beautiful.

"Please don't do this. Don't ask it of me. Please, anything but this!"

A smile. A sharp inhale of excitement. "Then I won't _ask_.")

"I... I..." she stammers, not quite knowing how to phrase her thoughts. "There's... I think there's something wrong with me."

He solemnly nods and leans forward from his seat, his long black hair spilling from his shoulders. "Speak your mind."

"...I'm having these urges," she slowly admits. "To... um, hurt." _To kill,_ is what she leaves unsaid.

Sesshōmaru's lips twitch to an almost smile, almost as if he heard her thoughts anyway.

"I... I tried," she blubbers, "That is, I can't help myself. Can't help but act on those urges. I tried, but I can't."

"I see," he says at length. "This bothers you."

A reluctant nod. "Yes. Yes, it does. It bothers me very much."

"And now you are here."

"Yes," she sighs. "I need your help."

"You presume much to think I will provide it, after the words you last spoke to me."

She defiantly meets his gaze. "At the risk of losing my head, I'd say I'm beyond caring if I'd offend you with my presence or not. I'm... I'm desperate. I need help."

"You have an awful way of securing it."

An artful shrug. "I figured I can't force you into anything, with you being... who you are. You'll either help me or you won't. It's all quite simple."

And it is simple. Just as it has ever been before.

Dogs are simple creatures by nature and design.

He studies her for a long moment, before rising to his feet, striding to a file cabinet. He deftly fishes out a thick manila envelope and drops it on her lap.

"There is your 'help'."

She scans through the contents and sees various documents proving a person's identity. A birth certificate. School transcripts and IDs. Passport. All seemingly legitimate, to her admittedly amateur scrutiny. All with her face on them. All with a name that isn't hers.

"Takatsukasa Kaname?"

" _Kaname_ is phonetically similar to your true name. It is adequate enough for its purpose."

 _Purpose_? What _purpose_? She fails to see how false documents would help her mental issues, and- "When did you have the time to make these?"

He gives her an indulgent smile, one that seems wholly unfamiliar on his face, which she remembered to only have his default aloof expression. "You forget that as you lived your childhood, before the Well, I had already lived the past you were about to see."

It takes her a moment to digest his words. Before the Well...

He'd _known_! The thought hadn't occurred to her before, but he'd _known_! While she was still in diapers, he'd known that she would go to the past and go through hell to save the world.

A deep seated resentment she didn't even know existed bubbles to the surface. He'd watched over her all this time - her entire life, it seems like - and he never even- didn't even-

"You know that I had to keep my distance, Little One. You were wary of me in the past, I recall. You did not seem to know me. It wouldn't do to make your acquaintance and alter the timeline, when there was no reason to."

She very nearly snarls at that. _No reason to?_ "Does the timeline even exist?" She asks instead. "Because it sure didn't seem like it while I starved and killed and hacked my way to Naraku's death. If it wouldnt have changed my time anyway, I would've-"

"You would have placed less effort to your cause. Probably fail in the process."

"But I already succeeded, Sesshōmaru. Before I even began the quest, there was already a foregone conclusion. All that struggle and death, all those mistakes..."

"Your trials were as I recalled," he placates. "They would have happened for they already had. You understand this.

"Had I attempted to warn you - or aid you, even - at the time, then something would have gotten in my way. Something would have stopped me. Such warning and aid was not given to you, thus it could not be. At the worst I would have died in the attempt. There was no choice but to let the past be."

With a heavy sigh, the fight rushes out of her, leaving her drained and feeling strangely bereft. "But I felt so alone," she whispers, lips trembling. "The others suffered too, but I couldn't... My family didn't... I..."

"I understand," he murmurs soothingly as he sits beside her and runs his hands over her back, his thumb tracing small circles. Another unfamiliar gesture, she thinks. He's so different now, it almost seems unreal. "I was unable to help the way you wanted, but I had hoped to help in the future. After the spider hanyō's inevitable end. When you would undoubtedly need it, and would no longer have your merry band of outlaws with you."

The reminder of the friends she left behind make her eyes fill with tears. Again. She always seems to cry nowadays, it's become quite ridiculous. It has been a over two months, and she finds it amazing, somewhat, that she could cry for her loss still, after all this time. Because the world _hasn't_ ended, has it? She still has her family, her other friends, and she even gets to keep her normal life. It's what she wanted, what she fought tooth and nail for. Why is it that she cant seem to find even just one iota of happiness for her efforts?

It all seems so unfair.

"The fake identity?" She asks tremulously, deciding to stick to the topic on hand. "How is it supposed to help me?"

"It would bind you to me. In a familial way," he hastily adds. "I had arranged _Takatsukasa Kaname_ to be my sibling. As _Takatsukasa Kaname,_ you would have access to the professional help in the many hospitals I own.

"Your younger sister?!" She asks incredulously. "You hardly even acknowledged Inuya- your half-brother," she adds, "as your blood because he was half-human. You're saying you want to adopt a fully human girl when you didn't want your half-human brother?"

"It would not be anything I have not done before," he replies, his lips tilting to form a sardonic smile."I had a human ward, if you recall."

"Rin," she blurts, pointedly not thinking about how _very_ dead the girl must be after five centuries. "Right. So you had less of a problem with humans than you did with... your own brother? You said it was his human blood you disliked."

"... I found him disagreeable for more than just his human heritage, I'll have you know."

"...What did he do?"

"You seem to be under the impression that he had to do something to incur my wrath," he says softly, withdrawing his hands from her back. "Did you not say that I hated him solely for his human blood?"

"I did, and you denied it. You seem to have mellowed out, but you still have something against him. So _what did he do_?"

He sighs. "Nothing of import. He's merely irritating enough to annoy me even in death."

The conversation tapers out after that, the air having turned too stifling and awkward for words to be spoken between them. Kagome murmurs a despondent farewell, deciding to clarify matters the next day. Hopefully the awkwardness would have cleared out by then.

She just hopes she wouldn't have to hurt (or kill) anything in the remaining hours.

ooOoo

Another cat is laid bare before her feet, neck broken, properly skinned and gutted and ready for the roasting that will not happen.

She doesn't _need_ to do this anymore, she reminds herself, even as the disgusting rush of pride and pleasure thrums beneath her skin. She doesn't need to kill or fight to survive. But the deed is done, nearly complete before she even became aware of her own actions. It had been a thoughtless thing, most probably done out of habit, and were it not for the unusual amount of pleasure she took in killing, she would have thought nothing of the habit.

But-

("It shouldn't be a problem, wench. It's easy enough. Here's what you should do...")

But she feels so happy after, so damned proud that she doesn't know what to do with herself. And her kill. For a moment she believes she is back to five hundred years ago, with Sango and Miroku and... and him. She could almost feel them behind her, preparing. A fire for her kill to be cooked in. Miroku would be making eyes at Sango who would roll her eyes, and he... he would be staring after her back, wondering what the hell is bothering her. He would call out to her any second now, and she couldn't help but turn around and look at-

("What's taking you so long, wench? I'm _starving_!")

-at nothing. The tree doesn't react to her gaze. She frowns as she snaps out of her reverie.

"Urges, you said?" A deep voice asks.

She snaps back to the direction the sudden voice came from, only to meet the golden irises of Inu-

"Sesshōmaru!" She gasps. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Matters were left... unresolved. I came to your home to discuss them, only to find you gone, with your scent trail leading me here." His eyes fall on the feline carcass, before flicking to her gored hands.

She blushes and quickly hides them in her pockets

"A pup," he declares with a flat expression.

"...What?"

"Your skills are unrefined, your kill messily skinned. There are flecks of blood on your clothes. You are like a pup." He pauses before adding, "You need to be taught."

That... is not what she expected him to say. But each word he says makes her heart beat faster in anticipation. In excitement, and ar- "I... why aren't you... this is _wrong_ , Sesshōmaru," she stammers, backing away from him a step and taking deep breaths that do nothing to take away her strange giddiness. "This is exactly why I need help. I keep hunting animals and I don't even _think_ about it and-" she cuts herself off, before continuing, "I don't know why I keep doing this. It's not like it's necessary, after all. I can just go to the grocery store and... but it.. I..."

"It is not the same," he says, giving voice to her thoughts. His gaze is focused and penetrating, trained on her reddening face. "The thrill of the chase, the capture, the struggle, the death. The blood."

She flushes, but says nothing.

"The pride in contributing to the Pack," he adds, "Is something that cannot be bought in grocery stores. This is not a bad thing."

Kagome bristles. "What? What are you talking about? I'm killing little animals, Sesshōmaru! And enjoying every second of it. I'm turning into some murdering psycho. Even now, horrified as I am, I feel happy and excited and-"

"And sexually aroused," he finishes. At her mortified expression he explains, "The scent of your desire is heavy in the air."

Kagome's mouth suddenly dries up.

"It's not what you think it is," she weakly argues. "It's _not_!"

He inhales deeply, much to her mortification. "I am well-versed enough in such things to know _exactly_ what it is." His eyes flash crimson.

She gasps, taking one more step back, even as he takes a step towards her.

"It was different in our time," he drawls. "It was a constant fight to the top. A fight to be the strongest, the fastest, the smartest. None of that struggle exists in this time."

A pit of dread forms in her chest, but excitement too. "Sesshōmaru, what are you talking about?"

"What you do not know, is that after being strong enough," he takes one step closer, "The fighting instinct does not just disappear. It burrows deep and festers, until you cannot take any more of it. And this happens," he gestures to the dead animal between them.

"But it's over," she replies. "I don't have to fight like that anymore. There's no Naraku here, no insanely strong enemy I have to defeat."

He smiles. "Perhaps you need one." He lifts her chin to make her meet his gaze. "I can give you the struggle you so desperately crave, Little One. Say the word, and I shall grant you your basest desires."

His pupils are blown wide, fangs slightly protruding. Yet his hair remains jet black, his cheeks and forehead free of demonic markings. The slight hint of violence makes her breath come in harsh pants. Makes the apex of her thighs damp and throbbing. But it doesn't make sense, nothing about this makes any sort of sense-

"I don't understand what's going on, Sesshōmaru."

"I will take you, Little One, and you will fight me for the privilege."

ooOoo

 ***Accidentally gives Sesshōmaru a BDSM kink the size of Feudal Japan***

 **Oops**.

 **Anyway, tell me what you think.**


	3. The Meeting

**A/N: And so we finally meet the relevant Ootori in this fic, and surprise, it's NOT Kyōya! Well, Kyōya's relevant too, in a way, since I do plan on having him encounter our little miko somewhere in the next few chapters, but he's not really a main character here, despite my listing him as one of the four (Kagome, Sesshōmaru, Eclair, Kyōya). I wanted to put Mr. Relevant Ootori in the summary, but alas, he's not on the list of OHSHC characters here in FFdotnet. Which sucks, but I suppose you can't have everything. Sigh.**

 **WARNING/S: This chapter will have Medical Jargon. Lots of it. They're not too hard to understand, I don't think, but I can't be sure what a layperson does and doesn't know about the Infernal Torture that is med school, so there you go. Consult Google for definitions of terms. Chapter will also contain psych issues, because after rereading this chapter, I have officially diagnosed my version of Mr. Relevant Ootori to have Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder. Which is NOT synonymous to OCD, mind. OCPD is a personality disorder, whereas OCD is an anxiety disorder. In grossly simplified terms, OCD is doing something weird over and over because it calms you for some reason, and OCPD is being all rigid and tight-ass and perfectionist-like, to the nth degree.**

ooOoo

Things that don't fall within the norm have the tendency to bother him. And if such things are strange enough to not belong in any niche anywhere, then they tend to bother him to the point of explosive meltdowns, which fortunately only happened twice before in his whole life, both when he was still a teenager.

("Call me Jinnai. My junior over here is also an Ootori. Might get a bit confusing." He turns to a man in blue scrubs. "Come greet my patient, Akito-kun.")

Ootori Akito is an organized person at heart. It is evident in his every manner, in the things he says and the things he leaves unspoken, that to him the world has a certain irrefutable order to it. That there are certain possiblities available only to the rich and influential, and certain trials that can only be experienced by the masses. That there exist certain pathways towards specific goals, and certain people who can or cannot achieve them. His family calls him equally naive and cynical in turns, for coloring his own view of the world with only black and white. Which is of course utterly ridiculous. He views himself as _enlightened_ rather than naive or cynical, unburdened by the befuddling quality of unnecessarily strong emotions. Emotions blur the world and its only relevant colors - black and white - rendering it a headache-inducing collage of a thousand shades of grey. Much like how a myopic - a near-sighted - eye sees the world as a big blur, when it is anything but.

However, as much as his own family may disbelieve themselves of the notion, Akito fully understands the concept of _middle ground_. Business and politics both thrive on compromise, survive on allowances, and are fed by concessions. Political intercourse doesn't involve either just giving or just taking. In fact, in most cases the two are not quite as mutually exclusive as the dictionary may imply. As such, his belief in the world's dichotomous character does not mean that he is foolish enough to think that people are just as dichotomous inherently. Humans are very complex multifaceted creatures, and are more often than not self-contradictory, defying proper categorization. "Deliquent" for a good purpose. "Good" for unsavory reasons. Both of which are both "good" and "bad," and none of them all at once.

("I thought you knew."

...He didn't.)

Humans are grey.

Of this fact he is not exempt. He is human too, after all. He has never claimed otherwise.

(Sweat. Moans. Sighs. Fevered kisses. A gasp. "You're my exception.")

The human psyche and how it reacts to certain motivations and stimuli is as fascinating as it is confusing. However, when such complexities are weighed on a scale against his own - and his family's - benefit, then things are put into perspective. The world becomes much, much simpler.

Us or Them. Useful or Useless. Threat or Ally.

("Brother?")

Humans may come in shades of grey, but they come only in black and white where it matters.

However...

(A teasing grin. "You Ootori men and your control issues. Don't you understand that you can't control everything?...")

...His cousin's old patient, the twenty-two year old Takatsukasa Kaname, seems to be an _exception_.

("...Least of all _me_.")

Akito does not understand at first. Exceptions haven't existed since he was fifteen years old and Wakanouji Utau - heiress of the five-star Akira Hotels and someone he thought was his _ally_ \- had snubbed his offer for a business merger between her family's restaurant chain and his own's health resorts, after acting for several months as though she was seriously considering the idea. Wakanouji had been useful but ultimately useless, an ally and threat all at once. A Grey. An exception.

Ootori Akito has never liked exceptions.

("I was told he's the best. Can't say no to the best now, can I?")

And so he had ruined the Wakanouji heiress as slowly, artfully and meticulously as only a detail-obsessed perfectionist like himself could.

("How could you do this to me? How? You _knew_ how I fel-")

Just as he is sure to ruin Takatsukasa Kaname.

Ootori Akito's world has no room for greys.

ooOoo

TWO YEARS EARLIER

As a medical student currently on the first day of his psychiatry rotation, Ootori Akito is completely armed and ready to meet the most violently psychotic of people. He has packed a few elastic bandages he could possibly use to help restrain patients, and has prepared a small tablet where he could jot down his notes, or study psychopharmacology - the drugs used on psych patients - and different psychotherapeutic approaches in his idle time. In his pockets are a small notebook, three ink-cartridge-loaded hand-carved ivory Mont Blanc fountain pens, a neuro-hammer, a personalized pen-light engraved with his name and family seal, an Ootori™ otoscope and ophthalmoscope set, a portable fingertip pulse oximeter, and a tightly balled up pair of green non-latex examination gloves. The extensive medical artillery makes his crisp powder-blue scrubs bulge quite unfashionably, much to the silent amusement of Jinnai, his cousin. Jinnai - a "fresh-from-the-diplomate-exam" psychiatrist in Taisho University Hospital - has softly told him that the only overtly violent patients he is likely to meet would be the rare batty ones that come in through the Emergency Room, where there would be plenty of nurses to do the restraining if need be. Not one for being caught unprepared, Akito insists on bringing his arsenal anyway, mentally running down a checklist of items, just in case he forgot something.

If Jinnai's eyes water out of the unfulfilled urge to laugh, Akito ignores it, or he just doesn't notice.

"Days are slow for this department," Jinnai explains as he shows him how to access the patient's lab results through the hospital database. "So don't give me that annoyed pouty glare thing you do, when you realize that you needlessly stuffed your pockets."

Akito's eyes scan through the patient's history - it is sloppily made, he thinks with a frown - making a mental note to clarify some salient points when they visit the patient in person. He then turns to stare at his cousin/superior. "What pouty glare thing?"

Jinnai chuckles. " _That_ pouty glare thing."

Akito scowls. "... I do no such thing."

His cousin bursts out into full blown laughter. "That's cute. You're _uncomfortable_ with social banter. I wonder, cousin, are you obsessive-compulsive with schizotypal tendencies, or schizotypal with obsessive-compulsive leanings?"

Akito's frown deepens. "Please don't psychoanalyze me, cousin."

"... Definitely the former. I just bet you're the type to pigeonhole everyone and everything, in a way that only makes sense to you." Jinnai ponders that for a second. "Classical features. How _boring_." He then turns his attention to the patient's chart in his hands, writes some new orders and quickly signs it. He quickly chats with a nearby nurse, telling him to 'Follow the dosage instructions properly, these are _psych meds_ , damn it. And make sure the Yamashita thing doesn't happen again, which nurse decided to OD the poor old man on orphenadrine? Oh, Ueno? She fired yet? Why the hell not?! You guys have any idea how _hard_ the board roasted my tits-'

Akito tunes his cousin out, having neither the interest nor the energy to listen to Jinnai discussing his own breasts.

After finishing his rounds, Jinnai leads him to his clinic. He opens the door with a flourish, eyes twinkling. "Welcome to my fortress."

"It's a waiting area." Akito deadpans.

"Exactly! I have my own waiting area! Wait until you see The Confessional."

"I'm not Catholic."

"Yeah, yeah, ruin my fun, why don't you? By Confessional I meant the consultation room. You'll love it, it's got all the small-penis-overcompensation schtick a pompous brat like you could ever want."

Akito looks morbidly offended, but Jinnai pays him no mind.

Jinnai greets his caucasian-looking secretary - Murakami Theresa, Akito reads off the embroidered name above her left breast pocket - and grabs a clipboard from a nearby cabinet. Murakami greets him back, before handing him a pile of sheets.

"Ah," Jinnai drawls, "I almost forgot that Kaname-chan's my 10-o'-clock today."

Murakami chuckles. "Well, it's why you hired me, Doc! Takatsukasa-san is just in the boudoir, answering a phone call."

"Right," he grins. "Just give me a minute to talk to my fledgeling apprentice over here," he gestures to Akito, who bristles. "And then call her in."

She nods. "Got it."

Akito follows a prancing Jinnai into the consultation room. It looks, Akito supposes, just as grand and opulent as he remembers the clinics in his own family's hospitals appear, if not more. Familial duty - as well as pride - make him abstain from admitting such, however. Marble flooring with red granite detailing on the corners. Mentally stimulating yet aesthetically pleasing paintings on the walls. "Life" by Shōda Takeshi. "Trompe L'oeil" by Aurelien Dumont. And a surrealistic wall mural by Edoardo Lombardi, depicting Eros and Thanatos. Akito looks for its title but only sees the artist and the date the mural was completed. The title remains suspiciously absent.

A plush recliner grabs his attention, and he immediately approaches it to run the pads of his fingers across the decadent material. Goat leather, he concludes. If Akito were morbid enough he would say that it is seat fit to die in. Next to it is a coffee table - which upon close scrutiny is filled with carvings that look vaguely Mesopotamian - or is it Sumerian? - on every inch of its smoked mahogany surface. He slides the tip of his finger over the smooth edges. It's unvarnished, he notes with approval. The wood looked painstakingly buffed to a soft shine, instead of lazily bathed in cheap preservatives.

A++.

The sound of a throat clearing snaps him out of his thoughts. He finds Jinnai smirking at him, his brown eyes twinkling. "Does it pass your perfectionist tastes, Akito?"

"...It does." He begrudgingly concedes. "The mural?"

"Untitled, sadly enough. Took me a month of slavering like a beast looking for Lombardi, but the man said it was meant to be untitled. Like life."

"How apropos," Akito drawls in a tone that implies the opposite. All great works need great names, in his opinion. Not giving them such is like depriving them of an identity. They will always be "that one painting by-" or "that piece by-". An unnamed painting is nothing but the painter's exercise of vanity.

Which is unfortunate, as "Untitled" by Edoardo Lombardi has great technique, a notably brave and liberal use of its brighter reds, it's triangles converging quite smoothly and beautifully to the central conflict of the piece: Eros and Thanatos.

"Did you choose these pieces?" Akito asks, curious.

Jinnai shakes his head. "Taisho-dono did, believe it or not. He seemed particularly invested in my setting a clinical practice in his hospital."

"Taisho... the Taisho? Taisho Sesshōmaru?"

"Is there any other?" Jinnai retorts. "I mean, I heard a rumor that he has a younger sibling under the witness protection program or something equally outrageous," he scoffs. "But whoever believes that probably watches too much TV dorama."

"What is he li-"

"Dr. Ootori?" A feminine voice - not Murakami - calls out from outside the door. "I'm here for my 10-o'-clock."

To Akito's confusion, and subsequent mortification, Jinnai fixes his tie and runs restless hands over his hopelessly messy hair. His chest puffs up as he nervously scans his clothes for lint.

"It doesn't have any lint," Akito points out flatly. "And it shouldn't. You just bought your outfit last night."

"A lot of things can happen in a span of a few hours, cousin," the older man murmurs absently, still looking for the elusive lint.

"...I can't believe this," Akito very nearly gapes. "You're preening. Like a peacock. You're peacocking. You're worse than Kyōya and his glasses-pushing pose."

" _Peacocking_ is not a word, and I personally think that _nothing_ is worse than Kyōya's glasses move." Jinnai retorts playfully. He takes a deep fortifying breath and lands on his chair. "Cousin. Be a gentleman and let the patient in, will you?"

Barely restraining himself from frowning, Ootori Akito walks to the door, and opens it-

\- Only to come face to face with the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

ooOoo


End file.
